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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26091088">not meant to be alone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestralWatcher/pseuds/KestralWatcher'>KestralWatcher</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Steel Empires - J. L. Gribble, The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Backgound Ahn, Background Andy/Quyhn, Background immortal husbands, Canon Compliant, Canon Queer Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Fusion, Immortality, Multi, POV Outsider, Vampires, background Victory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 22:27:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26091088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestralWatcher/pseuds/KestralWatcher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times a vampire runs into immortals, and one time they run into him instead.</p><p><i>The Old Guard</i> film/Steel Empires book series fusion, set in the world of <i>The Old Guard</i> (no knowledge of the book series necessary).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lykon (Sometime During the 2nd Century CE)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>No beta, we die like immortals.</p><p>For the past month, I've been drowning in amazing found family feels from both The Old Guard and the Steel Empires series (especially the vampires in the latest book, <i>Steel Shadows</i>). I started imagining what might happen if my favorite cranky vampire met my favorite cranky immortal and this is what I ended up with: Asaron  dropped into the world of TOG. All you need to know about this brand of vampires is that they can mentally manipulate humans. (I added the idea that immortal blood might be more tempting than that of the average human.)</p><p>TW: The vampire only feeds on one immortal; it is explicitly consensual.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The only thing more unusual to find in this area of the world than a pale man with red hair is a man with black skin carrying a spear taller than them both.</p><p>Asaron has been making his way west and north, back toward the cold, familiar climes of his youth. Never again will he experience the blinding peace of sun across a snowy landscape, but at least he can return to the comfort of leathers and furs rather than the insubstantial cotton and silks these people prefer. He had escorted Ahn to what had once been her homeland, then she insisted it was time for him to learn to live—or die—alone. She protected him through his first year as a creature constrained by darkness, and the unlikely pair achieved a comfortable partnership over the next handful of decades. Now, however, Ahn made it clear the rest of his time as a youth belonged to him alone, to find his place in the world.</p><p>In the strange life Ahn bore him into, youth lasts a hundred years beyond his first death. Time stretches before him, and he acknowledges that an unfamiliar stranger will be only the first of many unanticipated events he might experience in a life expected to extend for centuries.</p><p>The man straightens from gathering water at the tiny village’s central well, and for the first time in years, Asaron stares another human of equal height in the eyes.</p><p>Also, for the first time in years, the man’s eyes do not slide to the side, unable to meet the predatory gaze of a vampire. Asaron cocks his head, and for lack of any other idea of how to respond to this novelty, greets him politely in the local dialect.</p><p>The man shakes his head, returning words in a different language. They exchange short phrases back and forth, Asaron offering Ahn’s original tongue, then Arabic, still not understanding in return. This close, the stranger’s scent reaches Asaron. Under the sweat and road grime, Asaron catches hints of a heady aroma, as if his blood might intoxicate rather than merely sustain.</p><p>“You are far from home, sir,” the man finally says in Greek, dragging Asaron’s attention back to communication rather than hunger.</p><p>“As are you,” Asaron replies in the same language.</p><p>The man steps aside from the well, gathering a pack and staff—no, a spear the likes of which Asaron has never seen. “I travel east to rejoin my sisters.”</p><p>Following the man, for the merest chance of a taste, tempts Asaron for the briefest moment. But his journey takes him in the opposite direction, so he wishes him safe travels. They part in the evening darkness.</p><p>(Over a hundred years later, reunited with Ahn to travel the world as a pair once again, Asaron still remembers the man’s tantalizing scent. He has only paltry terms to describe the indescribable to his sire, but her eyes do narrow in recognition. “Stay away from the likes of them,” Ahn says. “The risk will never be worth the reward.” Despite his prompting, she refuses to elaborate, and Asaron drops the subject soon afterward.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Yusuf & Nicolo (1103 CE)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He has not eaten in close to a fortnight, and the small animals provided by the desert are a poor substitute for the nourishment Asaron requires. The false energy from the blood of his horse, downed by a broken leg thanks to an unfortunate burrow, wore off nights ago. Asaron puts one foot in front of the other, through never-ending scrubland.</p><p>At first, he mistakes the heartbeats for a sort of auditory mirage. Then, the breeze shifts. Hints of a dying fire reach him a beat before the scent-taste-<em>want</em> slams into Asaron.</p><p>A half-remembered meeting a millennia ago stirs to life, muffled beneath the enthralling need that suffuses every other sense. He stumbles forward, blackness etching the corners of his sight as he draws closer to the twin heartbeats. The doubled pulse clamors in his ears.</p><p>The flatland dips into a sheltering crevasse. Asaron picks out two equine silhouettes, but his single-minded focus remains on the human standing before him.</p><p>There is no grace in his attack. He tackles the man with all the vampiric force he can muster in his weakened state, immediately shoving his mouth to the man’s neck. He is dimly aware of his animalistic growl, a far cry from the civilized monster he usually strives to be.</p><p>Hunger has driven any pretense of humanity from his mind. Along with, apparently, the knowledge that he had expected <em>two</em> potential victims.</p><p>Before his fangs can barely slice into the man’s skin, hands clutch Asaron’s shoulders and haul him away from his victim. In such a weakened state, he has little more strength than that of a normal man and is unable to wrench free of his captor, who flings him to the side.</p><p>When Asaron recovers his feet, two men with drawn blades confront him. A mismatched pair, especially for this part of the world. His intended meal could blend into any settlement that edges this wasteland, but his companion features the pale features from across the Mediterranean. Of course, more of his ilk have appeared in this area in the past few years, attacking cities with a religious fervor Asaron has stayed far away from (especially after the first time he is mistaken for one of these invaders).</p><p>He runs his tongue over his teeth. The barest bit of blood he spilled ignites in his mouth. Awareness sings along his skin, and he freezes in a silent tableau with the two armed men.</p><p>No wonder Ahn warned a younger Asaron away from these peculiar humans. The temptation of their blood wars with disgust for his hunger-spurned actions. Such a tiny amount returned him to his senses. How much strength would Asaron obtain from a full mouthful?</p><p>From a full body?</p><p>Except that was not Asaron. He clasps his hands to his chest and bows, the only apology he can offer at this distance, not trusting himself to speak for fear that baser instincts will lead him to plea for another taste.</p><p>The men exchange a glance, trading a conversation’s worth of words in that brief moment the same way Asaron and Ahn could once communicate across a battlefield.</p><p>In honor of the sire who warned him away from such temptation, and whose word he still respects despite her death over four centuries previous, Asaron lunges forward again. At the last moment, he changes his angle and vaults onto the back of one of the horses.</p><p>A race through the darkness risks a repeat of the event that plunged him into these circumstances, but the more distance he puts between himself and the strange duo, the better off all of them will be.</p><p>(Ahn’s long-ago warning brings mingled comfort over the handful of days between leaving the men and arriving at a small settlement that hosts enough people for Asaron to locate a man who beats his wife and daughters. No one will mourn the man’s disappearance in the desert, and the gold coins left in his wake will do more for the family than he ever managed.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Andromache & Quynh (1384 CE)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With his coin purse still weighed down from his last caravan escort, Asaron sees no need to exhaust himself in the pit for more ready money. Not that the fights are exhausting, but rather the need to restrain himself to human speeds, to human force. Always more mental exertion than physical. Instead, he purchases an ale and enjoys the spectacle of two women eliminating all comers.</p><p>The way they fight, two halves of a deadly whole, reminds him of how well he and Victory established themselves as a pair before he sent her away to make her fortune. As much as he enjoyed two centuries of his progeny’s company, vampires are solitary predators, and the luxury of living according to his own whims has not faded in the last eighteen months.</p><p>The taller woman, pale-skinned with dark hair confined to a thick braid, might have been Victory’s sister. But it is the smaller, faster woman who truly catches Asaron’s eye. She looks nothing like his lost sire, and yet she might be Ahn reborn into a new life.</p><p>The women vanquish their current adversaries, knocking them both unconscious within seconds of each other. The crowd roars, half in support and half in dismay at lost wagers. Asaron signals for the barkeep to deliver drinks to the women, sliding coin across the wood. As a man, he walks the world with ease, but years of experience with Ahn and now Victory have shown him it is much harder for a woman. A drink is the least amount of respect he can show at a moment when he has the funds to do so.</p><p>He has since moved to a dark corner to enjoy his drink in peace, but he knows their approach by the lightness of their footsteps amongst the crowded tavern, by the scent of mingled sweat and spilled blood. Asaron turns and greets them with a nod, and it is not until they drop onto the trestle seats across from him that a headier undercurrent of their presence touches him.</p><p>The memory of two men in a desert night rises unbidden, but today Asaron is sated and in control of his reactions. However, he does indulge in a deep inhale, savoring the extraordinary aroma put off by these two equally remarkable women. (And if he scents each of the women on the other as part of their particular bouquet, he has seen and experienced too much over the years to find it worthy of comment).</p><p>“Thank you,” the taller woman says in the language common to the area. “For the drinks.” Her examination of Asaron complete, she turns her attention to the rest of the tavern.</p><p>Asaron offers the expected reply to her companion, who stares at him through wide dark eyes, pupils blown in the dimness of the corner. “It is my pleasure.”</p><p>The smaller woman, who has let her hair down to fall in black silken waves across her shoulders, leans closer to Asaron over the unfinished wood. “Tonight’s efforts have proven both successful and profitable,” she says. “As thanks for his larger than anticipated cut, the master of this establishment offered us a private room for the night. However, my companion insists on bedding down in the stable with our mounts.”</p><p>“Last time we emerged so victorious after such an evening,” said companion offers, her eyes never leaving her scan of their surroundings, “our horses offered too tempting a target for vengeance.”</p><p>Asaron suppresses a smile at a version of his progeny’s name falling from this woman’s lips. But he stares at the woman who has decided that he is a more exciting target than anyone else in this busy taproom. With mock confusion, he asks, “And you suppose my offer of drinks means that I might instead be willing to guard your animals for the night rather than seeking a comfortable bed of my own?”</p><p>A small tilt quirks the lips of her steadier companion before her expression returns to studied passivity. In contrast, the woman before him laughs, a bright tone amidst the lower rumbles of the men who converse around them. “Perhaps I consider your offer of drinks a more than even trade for an offer of a warm bed that I am to be otherwise denied.”</p><p>Her blatant offer might startle and scandalize a man other than Asaron. But Asaron is more than a man, as he keeps his eyes locked on those of this peculiar woman who has yet to break her gaze.</p><p>Except Asaron is, despite his long life and extraordinary abilities, also still a man. The sense memory of the taste of the man in the desert blazes across his tongue. And Ahn’s warning was so very long ago.</p><p>(Asaron follows the woman into her private room. She presses her small form into his body first and bites at his lower lip when their mouths meet. Within moments, they strip their clothing—both discarding more than a few concealed weapons—and Asaron kneels over the woman on the thin mattress.</p><p>She drags calloused fingertips down the planes of his back. “Your skin is cold!” Wonder rather than fear fills her exclamation.</p><p>He kisses and nips his way from her mouth to her neck. Asaron will savor the smallest mouthful of her blood before wiping her mind and exiting the room through the window, leaving his companion with the memory of a pleasant evening, her partner a face that blurs in her recollection.</p><p>Instead, the bite to her neck heals under his eyes. She thrusts her narrow hips against him with a liquid moan. “One of <em>you</em>,” she whispers, delight in her tone as if he is as unique to her as she is to him. “Do it again. Take more.”</p><p>For once, it is Asaron who is helpless to resist. Hours later, when they are both sated, and he has licked the last bits of blood from her neck, her wrist, her thighs, Asaron grasps her chin in his hand and whispers, “<em>Forget</em>.”</p><p>Her return smile is feral as she says, “<em>Never</em>,” resisting the strength of his ancient mind and drawing his head to her chest. Still, she soon falls into a deep slumber. Asaron collects his clothing and blades, putting himself to rights before slipping out the window and away in the opposite direction of the stables.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Booker (1852 CE)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Centuries have passed, but a touch of that particular scent stops Asaron in the middle of a Parisian sidewalk. He follows its trail to a nearby alleyway, where two men take turns assaulting a drunkard.</p><p>Experienced senses take in every detail of the situation, and it is to Asaron’s great shock that the tantalizing scent emanates from the man who curls in the fetal position amidst the alleyway refuse, bruises and bloody scratches blooming across any exposed skin.</p><p>Regardless of whether the assault is warranted, Asaron cannot abide an unfair fight. He slips through the alleyway in silence. Reaching the assailants, he snaps the neck of the smaller man, then drags the other against his chest before the first hits the cobblestones. He drains his fill, then draws a short blade from beneath his waistcoat and slashes the man’s neck, erasing all evidence of his feeding.</p><p>The victim he has attempted to protect never opens his eyes, moaning at his feet despite the sudden absence of blows. Asaron huffs in irritation. Too much alcohol taints the man’s blood, reminiscent though it is of the delicious bouquet of flavors he has only once had the true pleasure to experience. And now that Asaron has fed, more than he usually indulges except when taking the life of deserving prey, he finds that the man at his feet evokes more pity than desire.</p><p>Already mourning the state of his immaculate suit, Asaron lifts the man from the ground and throws his arm across his shoulders. This close, his short blond hair brushes Asaron’s cheek. He takes advantage of the proximity to bury his face in the man’s neck and fill his lungs with his scent.</p><p>(The man’s wounds have already closed, and the bruises fade by the time Asaron leads him, legs dragging but mobile, to the entrance of the alleyway. He is not sure whether it is more in Ahn’s memory or that of the woman from that single, incredible night half a continent away that Asaron finds a nearby flophouse and pays for a room for the man. He empties his wallet and tucks the bills into the man’s pocket. A tentative lick to the dried blood on the man’s cheek proves that such blood is not always palatable, despite the evocative scent, and he leaves the man slumbering fitfully.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Nicky & Joe (1991 CE)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A city engulfed in madness always brings out the best and worst of people, and Berlin in the days after the wall falls is no exception.</p><p>Asaron has not been this truly sated in years, as he wanders through the night and drinks from any who would prey on those weaker. He does not kill—the city is on enough of a precipice without adding rumors of a potential serial killer to the mix. But it is more than enough to weaken them, hide the wounds with a strategically used blade, and return the aggressors-turned-victims to the night with false memories.</p><p>This would-be rapist’s target flees back into the nightclub upon Asaron’s arrival. He leaves his most recent meal sprawled in the alleyway and finds himself following her path. Not due to any desire to reassure himself of the woman’s safety, but because the pounding music evokes a sense memory of the pulse he should have with this much fresh blood flowing through his veins. And at least two of this evening’s victims had been far from sober, leaving Asaron with a semi-altered headiness that draws him to the swirling mass despite no current urge to feed.</p><p>Inside, he drifts among bodies that writhe to the beat of what the current generation refers to as music. He does not dance as much as he drowns his senses in the surrounding people, passing between humans oblivious to the monster in their midst.</p><p>He does not realize that he follows a particularly tempting scent trail until the two men are before him. They do not immediately react to his presence, wrapped up in each other as they are, bodies fitted together as they move to music.</p><p>Asaron keeps other dancers between himself and the couple, and they remain unaware of his presence. The urge to step closer vibrates under his skin. Still, despite the combination of drugs and alcohol that have accidentally ended up in his body, he retains complete control of his faculties. Perhaps it is because he is already full of blood—albeit blood without whatever quality that causes these men to attract Asaron’s attention like a bee to nectar. Perhaps it is Asaron’s age and relative strength.</p><p>Much like with the man he rescued in France over a century beforehand, Asaron indulges in a sharp inhale. He easily picks out the couple’s twin scents, different yet complementary, among the sweat and pheromones that suffuse the dance floor. Because he is already so attuned to them, he hears the quiet words one man speaks into the other’s ear, even under the blaring music and screaming dancers around them.</p><p>“That man is staring at you, Nicky.”</p><p>Nicky, apparently the paler man, turns in his partner’s arms until they are back to front, still moving together. They are of a similar height, and Nicky rubs his cheek against the other man’s dark scruff. “If I were him, I would stare at the more handsome of us, my love.”</p><p>The other man throws back his head in laughter. “As I said, he looks at you.”</p><p>The long line of his neck captures Asaron’s attention, and perhaps he studies them a beat too long. Both men stop dancing, and their measured defensive stances indicate that they recognize him for the predator he is. Asaron presses his fist to his chest and offers them a half bow before he withdraws into the crowd. He adds the slightest edge of enhanced speed to ensure they have no hope of following.</p><p>(Asaron is awake long after the encounter, tossing on his cheap hotel bed as the drugs work their way from his body. Dawn has passed, and with sleep eluding his grasp, he indulges in the memory of his encounter with the men whose blood would have driven him even higher at the slightest taste.</p><p>Only then does he realize the men had not spoken German in their short exchange. So distracted was he by their mere presence that their use of an old Arabic dialect had not even registered at the time.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Nile (2022 CE)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The young woman’s sudden arrival nearly undoes weeks of Asaron’s hard work. If she appeared even a minute earlier, he may not have gotten the safe open or acquired the paperwork necessary to prove this CEO’s connection to a human trafficking ring.</p><p>He assumes the nearing heartbeat belongs to nighttime security he can dispatch with ease, and he growls when the storage room door opens. The unexpected Black woman in tactical gear fires her handgun as she barks a warning into her radio headset.</p><p>“One hostile at the safe. Repeat—”</p><p>Her bullet penetrates his right shoulder and knocks him back a step. Her words cut off when he does not fall, as she probably anticipates. Ignoring the second bullet that grazes a line of heat across his upper arm, he lunges forward and snatches the weapon from her hand. Her gender and race and American accent prove she is not security hired by this business, but whoever she works for, he cannot risk her interference.</p><p>He grasps the woman by the neck and slams her against the wall. Fangs bared, he prepares to dominate her mind and erase any memory of his presence. Her dark eyes widen under his stare but do not slide away, and then her scent hits him.</p><p>One of <em>them</em>. “Fuck.” With a snarl, Asaron releases his grip on the woman and backs away. Two more heartbeats approach with pounding feet.</p><p>He slips out of the storage room and around the corner into a standard office, then climbs back out the open window he’d used to enter the building. He drops four stories to the ground and lands in a roll, then sprints for the darkened forest. A shot from a sniper rifle buries into the grass at his heels.</p><hr/><p>Nile’s combined frustration and fury do not abate by the time they return to the Manila safehouse. An unknown element beat them to the safe, removing the documents they sought and vanishing under Nile’s grasp. She blames herself, even though she’s unsure how she is supposed to overpower and detain a man who shrugs off a bullet wound. Not to mention—</p><p>She alternates her glare between Andy and over her shoulder to Joe and Nicky in the backseat. “Vampires?” She spits the word between clenched teeth. “None of you thought to let me in on how we’re not the only weird supernatural shit in the world?”</p><p>Andy parks at an angle before the two-story house tucked away from the rest of its neighbors. She blows out a huff of air that lifts a lock of hair from her forehead. “I know what you think you saw, kid—”</p><p>Nile slams out of the car and storms to the front door. She stares at it unseeing, then whirls back to her teammates when they follow her up the path to the safehouse. “He barely reacted to being shot! I saw his teeth!”</p><p>Placing her hands on each of Nile’s shoulders, Andy says, “Let’s clear the house. Get showers. Make some food.” Without waiting for a response, she draws her sidearm and ducks into the safehouse’s front door.</p><p>Nile and the guys should follow her in, in their capacity as mingled support/literal bodyguards to their mortal companion. But Nicky and Joe’s rapid conversation in Italian absorbs their focus until Nicky realizes Nile still stands before them. He breaks off mid-sentence. Her Italian skills are mediocre enough that she has not caught most of their words, except perhaps a reference to a nightclub that might be in a desert?</p><p>“1991. Berlin.” Nicky crosses his arms over his chest, chin jutting out in his must stubborn expression.</p><p>Joe pulls off his ballcap and rubs a hand through his curls. “I’m still not convinced it was the same man. How could it possibly be?”</p><p>Nicky throws up his hands, then stomps past Nile into the house. Nile raises an eyebrow at Joe, then follows Nicky.</p><p>Andy was deflecting rather than denying. Nicky and Joe rarely disagree like this. Nile will get to the bottom of the story.</p><p>Because redhead dude <em>definitely</em> had fangs straight out of a Dracula movie.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Andy never believed most of what Quynh told her about that particular bed partner. Joe and Nicky are confused; the years after they met were weird (Berlin was also weird). When Nile calls Booker, he needs 10 minutes to get over his laughter. He spends the next year sending Nile DVDs of bad vampire movies.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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